


the dead don't sleep

by cel10e



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Undead Owen Harper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cel10e/pseuds/cel10e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been exactly twenty-six minutes and it feels like it’s been all night.</p>
<p>“Why am I doing this,” Owen asks the ceiling, gesturing with his bandaged hand. It doesn’t answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dead don't sleep

Owen blinks.

It’s rather useless, as his tear ducts weren’t resurrected with him, but it’s not like his muscles know that.

Thirty-five seconds pass, marked by the quiet ticking of his wristwatch.

Owen takes a deep breath, and rolls onto his back.

The breath isn’t strictly necessary, either. In fact, it’s only in the boredom of his bedroom that he’s retrained his lungs to work on command (because like fuck if he’s going to let himself lose another patient due to his inability to fucking _breathe_ — )

His eyes flick to the alarm clock. 1:48, it blinks at him.

It’s been exactly twenty-six minutes and it feels like it’s been all night.

“Why am I doing this,” Owen asks the ceiling, gesturing with his bandaged hand. It doesn’t answer, and he lets his hand fall onto his stomach. He feels the impact but he doesn’t _feel_ it, not like he should, and he huffs in disgust.

He’d stayed in the Hub that night for as long as he could manage it, but Gwen had left and eventually Tosh had left and when it started becoming abundantly clear that Ianto wasn’t actually planning to leave, he’d finally made his exit.

(Just because he _knows_ , doesn’t mean he wants the bloody _proof_.)

Home, telly, useless shower, thermostat down because if he doesn’t need body heat then there’s no reason to pay for it anymore, and here he is, bored, tired and utterly, utterly awake.

He pulls his mobile from his pocket, clicking through his recent messages (nothing) calls (nothing) messages again (still nothing) contacts (all asleep, probably) pictures (none) ringtones (why) messages again (stop) and throws it to the far corner of the bed so that he doesn’t accidentally text anyone in a fit of irritation.

It blinks off, after a moment, and he almost resists the urge to look at the clock again.

1:49.

Owen thunks his head against the pillow, groaning.

He’ll go in at nine, because the latest Gwen will arrive is eight-thirty and just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he’s going to start being punctual all of a sudden, but that means he has seven hours and ten minutes to kill because he could literally stand up and go out right now because he doesn’t need breakfast or a shower or new clothes or sleep and he won’t ever, ever again and —

Owen puts his hand on his chest.

Nothing.

“Can’t even have a proper panic attack anymore,” he tells the ceiling. “What’s the point, really?”

It still doesn’t answer.

He kicks the sheet off, just for the sound of it, and reaches for the phone again. His contacts list is short, no more than a couple dozen names, and the number Martha had given him earlier that day sits alone, out of place, at the top.

**  
**“What the hell,” Owen says, and calls the Doctor.

**Author's Note:**

> So here's my first and probably only contribution to the Torchwood fandom. Owen's always been my favorite character on the show, and I felt like it never quite did justice to the whole 'being dead' thing -- 2x08, while a great episode, sort of tied up a whole bunch of casual trauma with a few neat little ribbons and then he was fine. Also, it's a crying shame that Owen never met the Doctor, since everyone else in Torchwood Three has at least once.
> 
> I was originally planning to do more with this but I sort of like it open-ended, so here it is.


End file.
